The Space Between the Galaxies
by hufflepufff
Summary: Faberry AU. After their friendship in Lima dwindles, Quinn and Rachel go to college at Yale and NYADA, respectively. Quinn becomes an astrophysics major because of her love for the night sky... and also realizes her love for another star in her life.
1. Chapter 1

**The Space Between the Galaxies **

**Chapter One – 'Did you know that if the moon disappeared, the Earth would be destroyed? It's the little things that matter.'**

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><p><strong>AN: This the first chapter I wrote, and I did it for a kind-of prompt that I found on Tumblr, so it's super short and I have yet to decide what to do with this fic. I have a lot of ideas, though!**

**A/N 2: Sorry for any grammatical errors... this is unbetaed as of now.**

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><p>My first night at Yale was hard, and I found myself slipping out of the dorm and wandering the deserted campus streets before I really knew what I was doing.<p>

I wasn't homesick - how could I miss the looks I got as she I the streets, the looks from people knowing that I was _that_ girl, the one who got _pregnant?_

In Lima, I was Quinn Fabray, head cheerleader and president of the celibacy club until one night that ruined everything. I was Quinn Fabray, the girl who came back from the summer after junior year with pink hair and a reckless attitude and a cigarette dangling from her lips. I was Quinn Fabray, who had everything handed to her on a silver platter but still managed to fuck it up.

Here, at Yale, I was a quiet girl who owned too many prim dresses and blazers and seemed like she had everything together.

I didn't, though – hell, it was one o'clock in the morning and I was wandering around Yale because I couldn't put a finger on what was wrong with my life. Who _does _that?

Well, apparently me. Damn.

It was when I sat down on a bench, the chilled metal bars pressing against the backs of my thighs, that I looked up at the sky for the first time. It was when I sat down on the bench that I started to pick out constellations and galaxies and discern the color of the space between them. It was when I sat down on the bench that I calmed down a bit.

It was also when I fished my cell phone out of the back pocket of my shorts and called Rachel Berry.

Did I know why I did it? Kind of.

Rachel and I were friends, after all, but we'd drifted apart over the summer as we realized that college was fast approaching and even though Yale and NYADA were both on the East Coast... well, it just wasn't realistic.

We'd seen each other a few times, yeah, but it was casual and we didn't act as close as we'd grown to be by graduation. It hurt to lose what we had, but I knew that it would hurt more if we put it off until we actually left for college. Right?

That was the problem, though. I questioned my decision, didn't trust my own judgment when it came to Rachel Berry.

"Hello?"

I jump a little; I'd forgotten I'd dialed the phone. Damn, I still know her number by heart.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah. Hi."

"I hope you realize that it's one o'clock in the morning."

_ "_Uh. Yeah. I do."

"Any reason why you're calling?"

_I might have walked out of my dorm for no reason and now I'm sitting on a bench and I don't know how to get back. _

"I miss you."

Let's just say I'm working on my delivery. My brain and my mouth don't always agree, okay?

"Oh."

Pause.

"I miss you too."

Inhale, Quinn. You remember how to breathe, right? Exhale. See? It's pretty simple. Now just keep doing that and don't forget.

What? Sometimes I need a little direction. From myself.

Don't even think about commenting on that.

"How's NYADA?" Yeah, that's good. Ask her about her new life. In New York, 85 miles away. Not that I know that number.

"It's okay. My roommate's kind of weird, but I think we'll get along. How's Yale?"

Yale? Oh, it's great. I haven't actually been to any classes yet and I got a single room because I don't like strangers and now I'm sitting on a random bench and it's the middle of the night. But yeah, I'm fine. Fantastic. Marvelous.

"It's good, I guess."

"Honey, why did you call? You sound distracted."

_Honey?_

"I – I might have walked out of my dorm room and I don't know why I did it but I wasn't paying attention to where I was going and -"

Where the hell did _that _come from? I didn't mean to say that. I wasn't even _thinking _about saying that.

"Oh my god! Quinn! Are you okay?"

Thank god she still cares.

"Well I mean I'm not hurt or anything but -"

"Why would you even do that? Does anyone know where you are?"

"I don't know, and no one except you."

Silence. I look up at the indigo sky, at the countless stars and three airplanes.

"Well... what do you want me to do?"

Wait... make that four airplanes. Their blinking lights are screwing up the perfect sky.

"I don't know, you were just the first person I thought to call."

That sounds really pathetic. Get it together, Fabray.

"Oh."

"I don't even know why I called. I'll find my way back to my dorm on my own. I just... I felt lost."

"You mean more lost than you are right now?"

"Shut up."

"Sorry!"

"No, you're not."

"You're right. I'm not."

Of course she isn't. Sarcastic asshole. But I love her.

_Wait, what?_

"Quinn?"

Oh yeah. Conversations. I know how to have those, I think. Maybe.

"Yeah?"

"I really do miss you."

"I miss you too, Rach."

"Do you maybe want to talk sometime this weekend?" I can hear her shy smile in her voice.

"I'd like that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Pause.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

"Rachel, I'll be fine." I sound a hell of a lot more together than I am right now. Because _I apparently love Rachel Berry. _

How did I not know that? Isn't love one of those things that you _notice?_ I mean, really.

It must've just slipped out. I wasn't thinking.

"If you say so." She's still worried.

"I mean it. I'm not even sure why I called in the first place. I'm gonna go back to my dorm, okay?"

"Okay. I'll call you this weekend. Text me if anything happens."

"I will."

"Stay safe."

"Yeah."

"Bye, Quinn."

"Bye, Rach."

I keep the phone to my ear as the line goes dead. I'm still looking at the stars.

There's only one airplane there now. I guess that's not screwing stuff up too much. I can still see all of the constellations I know.

I studied them all this summer – the constellations, I mean. I don't know what got me into it, but something about the vastness of the universe intrigues me. There's an infinite amount of stars and planets and an even bigger infinite amount of empty space. And everything affects everything else. It's all important.

I don't know when I stood up and walked back to my dorm (or how the hell I found my way back), but I woke up the next morning hoping it wasn't a dream and that I'd get to talk to Rachel over the weekend.

I'd been missing her.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Space Between the Galaxies**

**Chapter Two - 'But the moon's not that small.' 'Compared to the universe, it is.'**

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><p><strong>AN: Still unbetaed, but I really like where this story is going. Read and review, please. I'd like to know how I can improve as I go. Thanks! :)**

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><p><em>Lecture <em>_Hall__ 4, __Lecture __Hall__ 4, __Lecture __Hall__ 4. _

Maybe if I repeat it in my head like a mantra, it will materialize. I spin around from where I stand, my eyes darting everywhere, wishing that a sign would pop out of the ground to tell me where to go. _Yeah__, __bright __lights __and __a __big __neon __arrow __would __definitely __be __helpful __right __now__. _

To my increasing chagrin, one doesn't appear.

_Lecture __Hall__ 4. __Hmm__. _

I can almost hear my watch ticking; I barely have three minutes to get to class. It's Astronomy 101 - a course that's generally regarded as a joke, but I had to fill the requirement somehow. And in my opinion, it's way more enjoyable than Organic Chemistry.

Without thinking, I stop a nerdy-looking guy as he walks past. When his gaze snaps up from his feet to my face, his jaw drops.

"Hi, do you know where Lecture Hall 4 is?"

He seems lost for words. The _Jeopardy _theme plays in my head.

"I don't have all day. Can you talk, or what?"

"Uh, yeah," he says, still a bit flustered. "Just take the second street on the right up here, first building on your left."

"Thanks," I say, sounding snappier than I probably should. His arms are still gesturing vaguely in the direction of the hall as I break into a light jog. I might still get there on time.

"Hey," he calls after me. "Are they still holding Astronomy 101 in that building? I had that class last year."

"Yeah," I throw back over my shoulder. He yells something back, but I'm too far away to hear it and frankly don't care enough to turn back.

Two minutes later, I push through the doors to enter the building, my breath coming in short gasps. I'm out of shape from Cheerios. Lecture Hall 4 is the second hall there, and I slip through the open door and slide into a seat at the back of the small auditorium less than a minute after class was supposed to start.

Down at the front of the room, an elderly man is shuffling through papers on a spindly wooden desk that looks like it's going to collapse under the weight of the bulging briefcase sitting atop it. The walls are painted dark gray and made of cinder blocks. I feel stifled.

_Shouldn__'__t __we __be __in __a __different __room__, __especially __for __a __class __on __astronomy__? __Shouldn__'__t __we __be __somewhere __light __and __airy__? __Or __at __least __a r__oom __with __a __window__?_

The man seems to get his papers in order and walks over to the chalkboard, slides a long piece of chalk out of a box, and attacks the board with hard, punctuated strokes. I can barely make out what it says, because his handwriting is big and then small, the capital letters huge and the rest tiny, illegible scribbles. He places too much importance on too few things.

As I squint at the board and try to figure out what his name could be (it starts with a J, at least), he turns back to face the class.

"My name is Professor Jenkins, and I will be teaching Astronomy 101 this semester."

I watch him wiggle the long piece of chalk between his index finger and thumb, the ring finger of his right hand tapping incessantly on his thigh.

"You're all supposed to be in this class?"

There's a general murmur of assent from the students. There's only about twenty of us, and as his eyes roam around the room, I want to slink down in my seat until I'm invisible. I'm at least three rows behind the next person, and his eyes linger on me a moment too long. I hold his gaze until it becomes uncomfortable. Even non-interactions like that scare me more than I'd like to admit.

He starts to call attendance anyway, and I notice that his voice has a strange lilt to it; not an accent, but loud and then soft, putting emphasis where it isn't due, punctuating some words but not the important ones. I'm reminded of his handwriting, too-big then too-small, not focusing enough on the little things. _It__'__s__the__little__things__that__are__most__important__, _I think.

I find myself gearing up to say "here" in the calm, confident voice that I'd gained over the second half of senior year. I'd proudly given the valedictorian speech at graduation, and I was happy with what my speaking skills had grown to become.

When he calls my name, I say "here," but I'm taken aback by the tone. It comes out like when I was captain of the Cheerios - cold, collected, and devoid of emotion. It sounds like I think I command the classroom, which is definitely not the attitude I want to broadcast on the first day of my first class, on my first real day of college. Especially when the class is Astronomy 101.

As Professor Jenkins continues attendance, I try to replicate the tone I want under my breath. I miss the voice I used after I had Beth, after I got over my rebellious phase, after I befriended Rachel.

As he finishes calling names, I abandon my efforts and bend down to pull my laptop from my bag and turn it on. I open a new document for notes as Professor Jenkins starts to write things on the board. As far as I can see, they're names of stars, constellations, and galaxies. I know them all already.

I study his form because I know all of the words already. He's tall and thin, or at least used to be when he was younger. His face is long and the skin sags a little, but his eyes are alight. If his mostly-gray hair is any indication, he's in his sixties.

_Professor __Jenkins__, __the __string__-__bean__. __Wiggles __the __chalk __between __his __fingers __when __he__'__s __impatient__, __taps __his __right __ring __finger __when __he __doesn__'__t __quite __know __what __to __do__, __puts __too __much __importance __on __too __few __things__. _It's this that I think, this that I type in my notes.

I don't need to know what he's writing on the board or what he's talking about; these are the important things for now.

Professor Jenkins (_String__-__bean_, I think) stops writing and there's a heavy silence in the room, except for the click-clack of computer keys. I can almost feel the hot breaths of my classmates adding moisture to the already-humid air. I hope it's not always like this.

"How many of you copied those terms down?"

About half the class raises their hands.

"Erase it. Delete it. Whatever you do on those computers of yours, get rid of it. This class is not about memorization."

I sit up a little straighter in my seat.

"This class is about gaining knowledge, actually learning things. I want you to come out of this class having gained perspective. I know many of you took this course to fulfill a requirement. If you do the work and come to class, you'll get by. If you want to do well, if you want to actually _gain_ something from this part of your college education, you will do research outside of this class."

Some of my classmates look absolutely terrified. I'm proud to be one of the few whose eyes shine with excitement.

_Can __eyes __really __shine__? _I type.

String-bean has taken a stagnant pause for emphasis. This time, the silence isn't heavy, but rather electric with energy. The students who hadn't expected to have to work in the course are holding their breath, not daring to exhale. The few who hadn't copied what he wrote (including myself) are looking up to the front of the room with confidence, not afraid to meet his gaze.

_Maybe __I__'__ll __like __this __class __after __all__. _

"Alright, are we ready to actually begin?" String-bean walks to the board and erases everything he's written. He launches into the history of the study of astronomy, and I hang on to his every word. He writes on the chalkboard only occasionally, although his handwriting and voice pattern are still the same.

When the class ends an hour later, I barely have half a page of notes.

As I push out the door of the lecture building and the cool fall air hits my skin, I'm in a genuinely good mood. I start walking back to my dorm, a slight spring in my step. I need to grab a few things before heading off to the library for some peace and quiet. Without thinking about it, I pull my cell phone out of the side pocket of my backpack and text Rachel.

_Hey__, __Rach__. __How__'__s __NYADA__? __I __just __went __to __a __really __good __astronomy __class__, __and __I __kind __of __like __the __teacher __more __than __I __thought __I __would__. _

Fifteen minutes later, I've successfully found my way to the library. It's a large building with a castle-like exterior, and my breath is stolen from my lips as I walk through. A long hall with study tables and immensely high ceilings reminds me of the Great Hall from _Harry__Potter_, and I grin to myself as I find an empty seat and set my bag down as quietly as possible.

I slide my laptop out and as it wakes up, I check my phone again. Rachel's texted back.

_**NYADA**__**'**__**s **__**great**__**! **__**I**__**'**__**ve **__**had **__**two **__**classes **__**already**__** - **__**Script **__**Writing **__**and **__**Music **__**Theory**__**. **__**I **__**don**__**'t **__**personally **__**see **__**the **__**value **__**of **__**knowing **__**how **__**to **__**write **__**a **__**script **__**since **__**all **__**I **__**want **__**to **__**do **__**is **__**sing**__**, **__**but **__**I **__**guess **__**it**__**'**__**ll **__**be **__**good **__**to **__**know **__**every **__**step **__**of **__**the **__**process**__**. **__**And **__**music **__**theory **__**should **__**be **__**pretty **__**challenging**__**, **__**actually**__**. **__**And **__**I**__**'**__**m **__**glad **__**your **__**astronomy **__**class **__**went **__**well**__**. :)**_

She's so goddamn cute. I run my lower lip between my teeth as I tap out a response.

_That__'__s __great__! __I__'__m __looking __forward t__o __skyping __with __you __this __weekend__. :)_

She responds almost instantly. I smile.

_**Me **__**too**__**. **__**I **__**kind **__**of m**__**iss **__**you**__**. **_

'Kind of.' My heart sinks to my stomach.

_I __miss __you __too__, __Rach__. __We__'__ll __talk __later__, __okay__? __I __have __to __study__. _

_**Okay**__**, **__**Quinn**__**. **_

I end the conversation as quickly as possible. I don't know why it made me uncomfortable, I just can't stand to feel more for people than they do for me. It gives them power over me, and I need my relationships to be equal because I've been hurt too many times before.

I don't know how long I sat there, contemplating my friendship with Rachel. I couldn't put a finger on why I cared so much for her - I guess I felt weird for being friends with her after treating her so terribly during our first few years. I made her life hell, and she took me back.

I would never have done the same had I been in her place.

I definitely identify with being disliked and not being enough. I'd gone through that as Lucy, and I didn't want to go back to that, not ever. When I saw Rachel, who was in somewhat the same position as I had been, I attacked because I needed to know that I wasn't there anymore. She was wonderful in her own way, and even though not many people liked her, she was Rachel Berry and she got what she wanted. I could never do that, I was never strong enough. It took surgery and weight loss and new clothes to get me to a place where I could feel sure of myself, even if that meant hurting others along the way.

When I look at my watch again, two hours have passed. It's five in the evening, and I have gotten no work done. Zero. Nil. Zip.

I don't even know what I was planning on doing. Professor Jenkins - String-bean - didn't give any assignments.

I sigh and start to pack my things. As I walk back out of the library, my eyes focus on the path straight ahead of me. I can see everything, but it's like I have tunnel vision or something. I don't _notice_anything. I see it, but my eyes feel empty.

By the time I get back to my dorm, it's almost six o'clock. I don't bother to eat, and slip myself between the sheets of my too-small bed. I feel like I've been shoved into a closet and had the door forced shut on me. I feel like I'm straining to get out, but I don't know where I'm trapped.

It's still bright outside as my eyelids flutter shut, and I can't fathom why I'm so exhausted.


End file.
